Irony
by Artemis's Liege
Summary: Wanda can't help but wonder why this girl is with the X-Men in the first place. She doesn't belong. She isn't like the idealistic, hopeful, naïve teenagers Xavier attempts to mold into perfect child soldiers.


A Wanda introspective. I hope that I did a good job keeping her in-character. It seemed kind of iffy to me in some parts. Let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: The X-Men belong to Marvel. I don't own anything.

* * *

Wanda hates the color white.

It is supposed to be a good color, the color of cleanliness and virtue, of innocence and purity.

White was the color of the straight jacket that immobilized her, preventing her from escaping that hellish place, condemning her to years of loneliness, with only the presence of doctors who drew blood and psychologists who tried to get inside her head, and the occasional, condescending visits of Charles Xavier for company.

White was the colors of the walls she had stared at for hours on end, having nothing else to do with her time. Every wall in the building, no matter where she had gone, had been white.

Wanda thinks it's so ironic, that while white means innocence to everyone else, white is the color that played a role in destroying _her_ innocence. White is blood and tears, not cleanliness. Insanity, not virtue. Terror, not innocence. Hostility, not purity.

She's free now. No more straightjackets, no more endless hours of staring at white walls until someone comes and forces her to go to the psychologist.

White is supposed to be good. Black is meant to be evil, to represent darkness. Wanda knows this, but she doesn't care

Wanda prefers black. She would rather be in darkness than in a glaringly white room. The darkness is a comfort; the white is a threat, too many unhappy, pain-filled memories.

Black is better. In darkness, no one can see the differences that separate people. The barriers that divide are gone. It is better to live in darkness than be exposed in the light.

But Wanda's favorite color is red. Red for the rage that blinds her, binds her into an unstoppable, furious rampage. Red for the anger that burns with the very core of her being.

Red for the blood that she will one day spill in vengeance for what others have done to her.

And it doesn't matter who gets in her way. They'll merely be making a target of themselves. She'll destroy of all them if she has to, with a wave of her hand she can undo their very existence.

Including the X-Men.

Wanda glares at the girl diagonally in front of her, who along with the rest of class is focusing on the trigonometry test she herself is ignoring. The teacher is at his desk in the front, more than likely playing solitaire on his laptop.

This X-Man, or perhaps, X-Girl, is different from the rest. She knows pain, in the same way Wanda does. And Wanda is willing to bet she's dealing with her pain in a similar way: repressing it until she can direct her fury at a definite target, and have her revenge.

Wanda can't help but wonder why this girl is with the X-Men in the first place. She doesn't belong. She isn't like the idealistic, hopeful, naïve teenagers Xavier attempts to mold into perfect child soldiers. Apparently she had been a part of the Brotherhood at one time, although Pietro didn't like to discuss it. Mystique also was silent on the matter, but Wanda had glimpsed a gleam of anticipation in the femme fatale's eye the one time she mentioned her.

The girl suddenly freezes in her seat, her hand poised above her paper, prepared to scratch down another answer. She straightens, then twists around to meet Wanda's gaze, a look of sullen challenge on her face. Wanda sends an ironic (Read: sarcastic) smile in her direction, and the girl responds with a fairly menacing look and returns to her test.

Wanda scowls at her back. The girl is beginning to annoy her, with her whimsical hairstyle, the front strands white while the rest just auburn, and her "I'm tougher than you" attitude. Whatever this girl has been through, it can't compare to Wanda's miserable childhood. And the hair is just tacky.

When Wanda was in the asylum, one of the psychologists had once commented on her hair.

"It's getting a bit long," he said. "Of course, we can't allow you a haircut. God only knows what'll you do within reach of a sharp object like scissors."

Wanda hadn't responded, only stared at the floor. The doctor placed his hand beneath her chin and tilted her face upward so he could meet her eyes. He had smiled, but Wanda had only felt chills.

"Perhaps your hair will grow as long as Rapunzel's," he smirked. "Long enough that if you let it out your window, a handsome young prince can climb up and rescue you."

Had her hands not been tied behind hair back, tight enough to cut off her circulation, Wanda would've killed him then. Even later on, she was unable to distinguish which doctor it had been because the drugs in her system blurred her vision. It wasn't the thought of killing all of the doctors in the place that bothered her; it was the thought that the one she hated might get away.

The boy who sits in front of her turns to glance at her, and Wanda realizes that her breathing has grown ragged. She releases her grip on the sides of her desk and does her best to relax.

At least she was able to cut her hair, though.

The X-Girl shoots Wanda a meaningful look from over her shoulder, and then nudges her paper off her desk, so it skitters beneath Wanda's feet. Frowning, Wanda retrieves the completed test paper, and glances questioning at the girl.

A vulpine smile is on the X-Girl's face, and Wanda cautiously looks around the room, aware that this girl could be trying to get her in trouble and then laugh about it later with her snobby friends. Their teacher remains intent on his solitaire, and the students around them are frantically trying to finish their tests in the time remaining. The girl recognizes her misgivings and shrugs carelessly.

Ironic, that a girl who she had disliked, who is her enemy, is helping her. They fight for different ideas, they have different reasons that lead them to fight, yet off the battlefield, here is the X-Girl, helping her cheat on a math test.

Wanda gives an equally vulpine smile to the girl, and begins copying the X-Girl's work and answers onto her paper. When she's done, she pushes the paper back to the girl, careful not to get dirt on the test, which would cast the X-Girl in a suspicious light. When the girl reclaims her paper, Wanda's gaze fixes for a moment on the white area of her hair.

White. It had drawbacks, that was for certain, but maybe it wasn't always such a terrible color.


End file.
